Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to NCIS. They are owned by CBS. I'm placing this at Season 3. It's been a long time since I've seen that season, please forgive me if I've overlooked anything and point them out in a review. I hope to make a few more chapters to make this feel like an entire episode. Enjoy.

Ziva and DiNozzo approached the couple, and their daughter, carefully; Ziva with a bright smile to sooth the scared child, and DiNozzo removing his sunglasses and pocketing them. Revealing his face would put the child at ease, because the little girl was terrified, shivering as she clutched tightly around her mother's body. This would require a gentle approach. Ziva took the lead with a reassuring smile, "Hi, I'm Ziva David,"(Saying it as 'Da-Veed') lowering herself onto one knee in the grass before the family, "Don't be afraid. We're the good guys" showing her polished NCIS badge to them.

"NCIS?" the father raised an eyebrow, "Not DC Police?"

"No" DiNozzo replied, "See, the man that was...that protected your daughter, was a sailor in the Navy."

The little girl turned her face carefully towards Ziva when hearing those words, "Is he okay?" her words slow and soft.

"Yes" Ziva nodded, "He's in the hospital right now. He'll be fine in a few days."

DiNozzo asked the father, "Sir, we need to ask everyone here what you may have saw and heard".

The father shrugged his shoulders, "I...we didn't see anything" motioning with his head to his daughter, "She lost her ball. It bounced over to the guy, and then I heard shots and hit the ground."

Though Tony was not getting anywhere with him, Ziva was gaining ground with the little girl, "What's your name?" Ziva asked softly.

"Daisy. That's what my mommy and daddy call me, 'cause my favorite flower is a daisy" she replied slowly letting her clutch go around her mother and sitting in front of Ziva, hands on her lap, gazing up at the dark-haired agent sitting a foot away with large blue eyes.

"That's a lovely name. I like daisies" Ziva cooed, "Now, Daisy, you know why we're here, right?" tilting her head slightly to the right. The little girl lowered her head and nodded. "Now, I need you to be brave for me. Can you be brave?" She nodded again. "Good. I need you to remember what the person looked like that shot the man with your ball."

Daisy looked at the ground, fingers picking at the long blades of green grass. Her eyes closed and her mind flashed as she tried to remember, though she wished she didn't. There was her ball, a large pink inflatable and held up in the palm of the hand of the man on the bench. She was reaching up for it with both hands when a dark figure stepped in from her left. The man with the ball jerked his head towards it, dropped the ball and then grabbed Daisy in his arms and lifted her off her feet, spinning away.

BANG!

The man fell to the ground and pinned Daisy underneath his body. On the warm concrete, her eyes peeking around the man's shoulders, Daisy stared up at the blue sky as the dark figure looked down at her, turned and ran away.

"Daisy?" Ziva said softly, "Daisy?"

The little girl's eyes jut open.

"I saw him..." she cried.

Gibbs and McGee were still by the park bench with the latter holding onto the evidence bag containing "The Caine Mutiny" plus another with personal effects of the victim including a small cell phone. Gibbs had his hands on his hips staring at the blood stain near his feet then at the bench. The more he thought about it, the more that he knew that this was a personal hit. A random attack would have the man take something from the victim, his wallet or cell phone. Nothing was taken.

Here came Ziva and DiNozzo. "We got nothing from the parents..." DiNozzo said bitterly.

"But Daisy, the little girl, saw the shooter" Ziva replied with a reassuring smile. "She's a pretty brave little girl. Daisy said that the shooter wore dark pants, a gray shirt, and said that the shooter had a strange eye."

"A strange eye?" McGee turned to them with a confused look. "All of the other witnesses said the shooter was wearing sunglasses. How could she see his eyes?"

"It's not something she could make up" Ziva said firmly, "She said the man looked down at her and his glasses fell around his nose. That's when she saw his eyes. She said that they were dark, maybe brown, or black. But she also said that one looked one way, and the other looked another" pointing with the tip of her index finger to her left and then right.

Gibbs sighed, "So, we're looking for a man wearing a dark gray shirt, blonde ponytail, black running pants, sunglasses, and has a lazy eye" That was better than some of their previous cases. Having canvased the area for all eyewitness accounts, and the victim heading for the hospital and likely not able to speak for a while, Gibbs sighed, "Let's get back to the office."

An hour later...

The screen flashed showing a bust shot of Zimmerman, his dark eyes giving a leer at the camera. "Petty Officer Second Class Robert Zimmermann," Ziva said holding the remote in one hand, "8 years of service, stationed mostly along the East coast. Did four-month tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. Earned two Good Conduct Medals, two Commendation Medals, and the Achievement Medal to name a few. Saw action in Afghanistan when his base in Kabul was attacked by insurgents in '11. According to the After-Action Reports filed by his CO, Zimmerman showed bravery in running across an open field and pulling a wounded Afghan soldier to safety. He recommended him for the Bronze Star with valor."

Staring at the screen intently, reading the small font, McGee was comparing the medals on the sheets to what Ziva just said and noticed a discrepancy, "I don't see a Bronze Star, or a Combat Action Ribbon."

Ziva replied rather perturbed of this fact, "Both were turned down by his CO's CO citing 'lack of evidence'." She didn't like it when noted bravery was deliberately ignored over petty reasons. "His CO, Lt. Commander Herman Kessel, tried again for the Bronze Star a year later when Zimmermann again ran out and pulled a wounded man, this time a Marine, to safety in Baghdad. Once again, he was denied."

The others couldn't believe it and turned to the Mossad agent with McGee asking, "What does it take to get what you earn?"

"I think he pissed on the wrong person," Ziva replied pressing another button on remote the screen changed showing the photo of another sailor named Victor Salvador who was with Zimmerman's detachment. "He was awarded Bronze Stars for both firefights for valor." The guys ignored her grasp of American slang of pissing 'off' and not 'on' and instead focused on Salvador. They had a queer feeling that something amiss and he was part of the reason. Salvador was a big man, several inches taller than Zimmerman, but wasn't a long blonde-haired Caucasian with a lazy eye.

"Here's one thing I've noticed" Ziva said pressing another button allowing Salvador's picture to be covered over by a well-built Naval officer named Commander Isaac Stevens. "This was Zimmerman's boss's boss before the deployment. When he was in charge, Zimmerman got every medal and award recommended for him."

She clicked another button showing a face of a new officer, short with fat cheeks, thin lips and narrow eyes and long blonde hair, "Meet Commander Jeffrey Tanner. Right after he took the reins, everything stopped. Every recommendation for Zimmerman was rejected, and look at this (pressing another button), Zimmerman's fitness reports, under Stevens, are all excellent. It appears Zimmerman is on the fast track for a promotion, but when Tanner comes in...they all look like a disaster."

As she talked Ziva is showing electronic copies of the Zimmerman's fitness reports on the television screen over Gibb's desk. On the left side of the screen are glowing reviews from Stevens. On the right was Tanner's, the latter of whom used words such as, "Quiet. Lacking motivation. Lazy. Unfit. Sick."

McGee and DiNozzo scanned the screen in different areas, the former on the once glowing reviews and the latter on the latest. It's like night and day. When DiNozzo reached Tanner's words, 'Sailor is unmotivated and doesn't perform his duties...' he scoffed and turned away from the screen, "What did Zimmerman do, sleep with Tanner's daughter?" thrusting his hands into his pant pockets after hearing about Zimmerman's bravery in action.

"Tanner is single with no children" Ziva replied having read his file beforehand.

Jerking his head McGee says, "That rules that out," hoping that he had a gorgeous daughter of legal age, "But, you have to wonder what happened. His first CO is literally praising this guy to the stars," tilting his head back and staring up at the bright, overhead fluorescent lights, he momentarily becoming lost in them until Ziva snaps her fingers bringing him back, "But! When the new man comes in, he drills him into the ground."

"At the same time, though" the Mossad agent continued, "Look at this..." she pulled up Salvador's fitness reports. It was the opposite of what happened to Zimmerman. "Salvador and Zimmerman were together for nearly six years in the same detachment. It looks like Salvador's about to get the boot. But when Tanner takes command of their detachment-he was a rocket!" In reading the papers there were phrases like, "high speed" and "tight ship".

This whole time Gibbs was standing in silence taking it all in. Now confident in his plan he turned away from the monitor, saying, "Bring Salvador in for questioning. I'm going to talk to Commander Tanner and then Kessel."

"On it, boss" DiNozzo leapt for his desk phone, but Gibbs stopped him.

"Not you, DiNozzo. Ziva, you do it. DiNozzo, you and McGee go to Zimmerman's place" Gibbs said.

Putting the receiver down DiNozzo nodded, "Okay, boss" and grabbed his coat before heading out the door. A search of property was like a game of hide and seek.

Riding together heading towards the outskirts of D.C with McGee driving, DiNozzo sat there staring out the windshield with many questions running through his head. Nothing was connecting with all the evidence they had currently. Turning to his partner he asked, "Let me ask you something, probie; how is it that a high-speed sailor, like Zimmerman, suddenly is like a bomb falling away in the sky? You saw his fitness reports. This Herman..."

"Lt. Commander Herman Kessel" McGee said irritated.

"Yeah..." DiNozzo smiled knowing that he was getting on his nerves, "Herman. You got to wonder, though, how is it that Zimmerman is first going up and then, when a new boss come in and everything crashes," raising the back of his hand up to the ceiling of the vehicle and then sending it crashing down into his lap. "If he isn't sleeping with his daughter, and certainly not sleeping with his wife, maybe Zimmerman was dipping into some funny business, like bribing Kessel."

Shaking his head but keeping his eyes on the turning road, McGee didn't believe it, "I don't buy it. How could a career officer like Kessel be taking bribes for good fitness reports?

"There's a lot of ways of taking bribes. Money, favors, a boat..." DiNozzo smirked.

"Where can a E-5 afford enough to get a boat, Tony?" McGee sighed.

Speaking as a man of experience, "You be surprised at what you can get when you know the right people!" DiNozzo smirked sensing a sort of mafia connection forming only in his mind. "What do you think we'll find when we get to his place? A Porsche in the garage? Tons of money? Drugs?"

"I don't know" McGee sighed as he took their exit. To their surprise, the sailor's residence was in a middle class-gated apartment complex. They had to call for the landlord from the gate to let them in. That's where the landlord, an old retiree, was informed of his tenant's condition.

"Is he okay?" the landlord asked in surprise, stopping in his steps.

"Yeah" McGee replied, "There's been an incident at a park."

"I just saw that on the news," he stopped, closed his eyes and shook his balding head, "Damn. I hope he makes it."

"You know Zimmerman?" McGee asked.

The old man nodded and looked at the rings of keys, "Oh. He's been here for nearly five years. Rent is always on time. No noise complaints. Don't really see him around, but he gave me Christmas and birthday cards, though" he said as they continued their walk up a flight of metal framed concrete steps to the open breezeway of the second floor.

"Cards?" DiNozzo stopped in his steps and raised an eyebrow. Rather unusual thing for a man to do for another man.

"Oh yes" the landowner paused again and turned around, "I'm retired Coast Guard. We were talking about that when he signed his application, and he made me cards of the ships I was on; Polar Sea and Polar Star. Drew them all himself," he said with a smile, "And they were so good that I had them framed."

The landlord led them to Building #1, two-stories tall and subdivided into four units on each floor. For an apartment complex the place was quiet. No children running through the open breezeways. No loud music or cars thundering by.

Finding the right key on his ring, the landlord sauntered over to the door with "28" above, thrust the brass device into the lock and turned. The deadbolt clicked as it slid into the door. The landlord gave it a gentle push and the door yawned open showing a small, well kept, and bright apartment. Stepping inside the air was cool. Sunlight spilled through the blinds of a sliding glass door off to the right that led to a small balcony overlooking a tiny, forested park a hundred meters away. The wheat colored, short haired carpet was as if brand new and soft that it gave in as the two agents stepped in. DiNozzo turned about taking the spare key from the manager, "We'll see ourselves out."

"What's going to happen to his stuff?" the man asked before the door was closed.

"Don't worry," DiNozzo smiled, "He'll be back."

Putting on latex gloves the two agents started their search in the living room and were amazed at the Spartan arrangements. There was a lovely black leather couch with a dark wood coffee table facing the wall to the right of the front door. Except there was no TV. No entertainment center for it to sit on, or a wall mounting of any kind. Not even holes to show one had been there begin with. There were also no indentions in the carpet. Cocking an eyebrow DiNozzo remarked outloud, "So what, he just sat here and stared at the wall?" extending his right arm at the blank wall beside him.

"People still read" McGee said as he lifted the couch cushions, remembering "The Caine Mutiny" that the victim was reading when he was shot.

"Yeah, but a book doesn't have the same feeling as a movie," DiNozzo replied as his eyes lifted towards the ceiling his eyes caught sight of something. On the opposite side of the living room there was a line of framed pictures. They missed their gaze coming in. Curious about them DiNozzo slowly walked over. Hands in his pockets curious as if at a museum. Each one was 8x11.5s in landscape form and all lined with dark oak frames that were pretty solid in construction. Not some cheap cardboard ones from Walmart. Drawing closer DiNozzo's eyes narrowed as he saw the figures on the pages leap out at him.

Drawings.

Each one of them was a carefully sculpted masterpiece. "My. My. My" DiNozzo said in awe going from one and then the other. Each one had, 'Zimmerman' written on the bottom-right in a neat cursive with the foot of the last 'n' slicing back underneath the other letters, "Looks like the Petty Officer has quite the talented hand". McGee came over, but instead of admiring the craft, he took off the frames and examined the backs for anything hidden inside. "Don't mess with another man's craft" DiNozzo admonished before going into the kitchen.

"I'm not messing with his drawings," his partner replied, never taking his eyes off his work, "I'm looking for anything that he might try to hide." Not finding any hidden money, or drugs, or hidden messages, McGee reassembled the frame and correctly mounted it back on the wall before moving to the next.

Inside the kitchen Tony found it was immaculate. The drawers were neat. Silverware polished and sorted. Cups neatly stacked in the cupboard alongside plates and bowls. One thing that DiNozzo noticed was there were only enough for four sets; four sets of knives, forks, and spoons, plates, bowls, and cups all made of cheap white porcelain that could be purchased at the BX. "Looks like he didn't enjoy having company" DiNozzo replied with a curious look on his face, "Nothing here for a party". Opening the fridge there was a half-used gallon of milk, the vegetable bin was full of whole carrots and a half head of cabbage, a half block of Swiss cheese, and a metal bin covered in tin foil.

Peeling back the tin he looked inside and gasped loud enough that McGee turned and asked, "Find something?"

"Orange ham! Made from scratch!" DiNozzo smiled holding up the covered food. Putting it back he continued to search. No booze of any kind, not even light beer. Going through the cupboards under the sink, it was pristine with the chemical cleaners standing side by side as if on parade. This place could pass an inspection. "Let's check the bedroom" McGee said.

Clapping his hands together as he walked behind him, DiNozzo smirked, "That's where all the good stuff usually is."

Their approach was stopped once again. On either side of the short corridor was more artwork. Most were of ships with names they had never heard of, "USS Edsall DD-219" and "USS Avocet AVP-4".

To be thorough in their search, McGee took his time disassembling and reassembling each piece. All the while DiNozzo stood by looking at the other pieces. That's when something caught DiNozzo's keen eye, or rather something was missing that did. "Hey, probie. You notice something? I didn't see a phone here. No land lines."

Shrugging his shoulders, McGee said having put back the last piece, "Might be one in his room" before continuing.

Going into the bedroom it was just like the living room, a single-sized bed done up to standards. A small dresser. A small closet. "Guess he doesn't have a sex life either" DiNozzo mused turning right and heading towards the dresser, "Wow! Guess I spoke too soon" when his eyes caught several frames on top-all contained more drawings, all done by Zimmerman. However, unlike the previous ships, these were all people. DiNozzo whistled, "Look at this one" showing it to his partner, "What do you think? Girlfriend?" It was a fine pencil sketch of a young woman, perhaps early twenties with long, slightly curled light hair, almond shaped eyes, thin lips and a brilliant smile, small pearl earrings, but there was no name, no way to identify her except that she was wearing Navy whites, as judged by the collar and shoulders.

Next to her was another one, this one of a man that Tony immediately recognized, "Hey, it's Commander Kessel" and this one was as fine as the picture of the woman. "Rather odd, don't you think, to have pictures looking at you when you sleep? Now, the lady I can understand, but your boss?" DiNozzo's lips curled back in a disgusted look. "Imagine a picture of Gibbs on your dresser, staring at you as you try to sleep" he leaned in and whispered out of fear that Gibbs would jump out from the closet and slap him in the back of the head. There was another picture of a woman, she appeared to be Navy, but no names visible. This one was an Asian with long, slicked back black hair, half pursed lips, and a pointed chin. Opening the frames, they were unable to find any names for them.

Opening up the closet there were the sailor's many different uniforms all neat, ironed and covered in plastic to preserve them. Their shoes all lined up underneath next to a extra pair of tennis shoes still in their box. There was another shoe box in the back labeled "receipts" that were from last year. Buried in the back was his empty footlocker. No motives and certainly not a lot in the way of possessions.

That's when Tony's mind clicked.

"Probie, what's missing from this picture?" Tony said his eyes carefully scanning the Spartan like room. McGee paused what he was doing and looked about himself. Unable to recognize anything out of the ordinary, McGee began compare his bedroom with Zimmerman's. DiNozzo extended all digits of his left hand and began connecting the tips with the tip of his thumb as he began to count off, "No television. No movies. No phone..."

"No internet" McGee stepped in as his mind connected with his partner, "No photographs of family. None of his promotions or medals are on display. Most sailors would have those front and center."

"Exactly!" DiNozzo snapped his fingers, "Good job, probie" giving a half smile. His phone rang and 'Ziva' flashed on the screen. He quickly answered, "Yeah, Ziva?"

"I got Salvador waiting in the interview room," she said staring at the nervous sailor through the one-way mirror, "I haven't asked him anything yet and he's acting like a squid trapped out of water."

With a sigh Tony replied with a sigh, "Ziva, it's-it's fish out of water."

Ziva nodded, "Oh. Right. But I haven't asked him anything yet and he is sweating. Got anything for me?"

DiNozzo continued as they headed out to the front door, "This place is completely clean in more ways than one. No drugs, no money. Get this; no internet. No TV or a landline phone."

"That's unusual," Ziva replied curiously, "We did recover a cell phone from him at the scene, right?"

As he spoke both agents began walking towards the front door with DiNozzo in the lead. "Yeah. That's just a simple cell phone. You can't get internet or send or receive a text message with it. Just send or receive calls. It's like this guy wanted to be left alone" DiNozzo sighed in frustration.

Hearing that, it made McGee pause and look back and DiNozzo did it in turn. "DiNozzo, I think I got something" bringing down a finger, "On the fitness reports done by Commander Stevens, I read in several cases 'sailor has great talent of the arts' and he had done several pieces for retirement ceremonies and holidays."

Furrowing an eyebrow DiNozzo whispered to him, "How'd you read that?" with his cellphone still to his ear so that Ziva could hear everything.

"I'm a fast reader" McGee replied as his eyes looked about at the many drawings around them, "And the landlord said that he drew cards for him, right?"

"What are you getting at, probie?" becoming more annoyed watching this spectacle as McGee was tramping down the good carpet with his shoes.

McGee raised the tips of both index fingers and became deep in thought, racing from one picture to another. There were ships, more ships, and then an airplane from World War I and then another ship. Watching him with his eyes, DiNozzo said, "I think the probie just blew a gasket." There wasn't any rhyme or reason for his running as he went from one to another searching for something, staring intently at the fine lines and careful shadows of each piece.

McGee drew a deep breath, lowered his head to collect his last thoughts, and let it all out. "He is an artist! He is detailed in his work. Stuff like this takes weeks to do but look at it! They're all on his own wall. Not at Headquarters or a museum for others to look at. These are all for him to look at and admire. Zimmerman wouldn't do each piece unless it meant something to him personally. Those retirement ceremonies and commemorations, I'd bet that if we asked his boss, he'll say that Zimmerman wanted to it. Those cards for the landlord, Zimmerman did those because he must have struck a friendship with the guy. You saw his face when he figured out it was Zimmerman on the news. Those busts of the women and his boss? I'd bet my next paycheck that each one was done because those people in the pictures meant something to Zimmerman. They are special to him. But you notice that there's no picture of Salvador, or of his new boss. Those two were together for years and nothing of either of them."

Pausing for a moment his partner stared intently then raised an eyebrow, an idea clicked in his mind, a smile appeared on his lips in satisfaction, "Now you're starting to sound like a detective, probie."